


Making It Big

by NeverwinterThistle



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Post-Episode 4, Tales from the Borderlands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 08:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12678282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverwinterThistle/pseuds/NeverwinterThistle
Summary: He is the admin, the boss, the man on top, and every secret on Helios opens up for him at the touch of a key. It’s a rush unlike any other he’s ever experienced. Safer than Pandoran battlefield adrenaline. Less hassle than sex. Instant gratification at his fingertips; this ispower.





	Making It Big

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this ages ago, posted it on Tumblr, promptly forgot all about it. So it's an older work, but I had a lot of fun with it! Note that it takes place after Tales Episode 4 and contains no content from Episode 5.

“Looking good, kiddo, I like the new threads.” The voice comes from everywhere, nowhere, and one of these days Rhys is going to work out exactly _how_ he does it.

But not today.

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that,” he says.

His eyes (of both the squishy and metal variety) stay fixed to the screen in front of him. Full access. He is the admin, the boss, the man on top, and every secret on Helios opens up for him at the touch of a key. It’s a rush unlike any other he’s ever experienced. Safer than Pandoran battlefield adrenaline. Less hassle than sex. Instant gratification at his fingertips; this is _power_.

“Oh, I’m _sorry_ , I guess I got mixed up. But hey, ‘kiddo’ rhymes with ‘CEO’, it’s an easy mistake to make.”

“If we’re picking out pet names already, I kind of preferred ‘babe’.”

“Sure thing, babe. And you can just stick to calling me the usual, though I also answer to _oh my god_ and _Jesus fuckin’ Christ_ and sometimes even, _oh, yeah, Jack, do it harder, yeah-_ “

Rhys snorts with laughter. “You’re so full of it. You don’t even have a body anymore, Casper.”

“Uh, _what_?”

“As in, the friendly ghost. What, you don’t like it? I think it suits you.”

Something rumbles at floor level; the trapdoor slides open. It snaps shut with a sharp _crack_ , then slowly opens up to the tune of screaming metal gears. That can’t be good for the mechanism.

“That supposed to be a threat?” Rhys asks mildly. “Knock it off, you’re gonna break it. And I might need that trapdoor soonish, I’ve got sector chiefs coming by all day tomorrow to report. I even know a few of them. They won’t remember me, but let’s just say I’m hoping their departments are underperforming.”

The trapdoor slides sulkily closed.

“Thanks,” Rhys says, because whatever his old superiors used to say, positive reinforcement is actually pretty effective. “You can choose the first person I drop down there. I figure you’re better qualified for that kind of employment decision than I am.”

“Ah, you’ll get there. Just watch and learn, pumpkin, it’ll come to you. Like taking candy from a baby, after you’ve punched the baby in its stupid baby face and set the crib on fire.”

“Yikes.”

“Speaking of which. We, uh, we gotta check up on my Angel sometime soon, yeah? Not _right now_ , you can’t afford to take your eyes off this place for the next few weeks until everyone settles the fuck down and goes back to doing the jobs I pay them to do. But…after that. Yeah. You can come with, she’d like you.”

“I’m not great with kids,” Rhys says, glancing at the smiling girl in the photo on his right. He could have moved it; Jack says the office is his, and he’s welcome to redecorate. But his voice hitched a little, a momentary glitch, and Rhys has opted to leave the photo where it sits, for now. “But seeing as you were talking about punching babies a few seconds ago, I guess that makes me pretty stellar by comparison.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Rhys closes the file he was looking at, specs from R&D, something shooty and expensive. Guns were never really his kind of thing. He sits back, tugging at the collar of his black jacket. The new wardrobe is something he can _definitely_ get behind, even if it keeps rearranging itself, courtesy of some intrusive digital entity deciding he’d look better in silk. Or leather.

“You keep playing with that, it’ll fall off,” Jack remarks, and Rhys yanks his hands away from the offending collar. “Didn’t I tell you that one would look great? I know I did, because I saved the audio from when I was telling you. I get to do that now. Pretty sweet, yeah? How about we take a listen to old Jack being right, like he always is.”

“Please no,” Rhys groans, but it’s too late.

“Wear this one,” says the recording, right in his ear this time. He tries not to jump too high. “No, you can’t fucking have the stripes, I’m taking that away and burying it under a pile of nuclear waste or something. And no tie. You don’t even know what to do with one, what the hell kind of monster tucks their goddamn _tie_ into their goddamn _pants_. Even bandits don’t do that. No tie.”

“Give that back!” Rhys’ recorded voice rings out, high pitched and tinny, chipmunk-like.

“Hey!” Rhys objects. “I don’t sound like that.”

“See, now _that’s_ what I’m talking about,” the recording says, as smug as it was the first time around. “Looking goooooood, Rhysie, do a twirl for me. Oh yeah. I am the fashion _king_ , and you are gonna be having so much sex you’ll need, like, slaves to carry you around on a chair because you won’t be able to walk. And you’ll still be having sex on the chair while they do that. You’re CEO, baby, you get to do anything your nerdy little heart desires.”

“Yeah, yeah, you can turn that off now,” Rhys says. “You were right, I admit it, whatever. I’m still not wearing the leather.”

“Sweetheart, _pumpkin_ , you wouldn’t be saying that if you had any idea how good your ass would look in those pants. Trust me on this one. I ran some digital simulations, mocked it up, and I am telling you that ten out of ten experts agree your ass would make grown men cry. Come on, do it for me. When have I ever steered you wrong?”

“You do remember that time you had robots shoot at my friends?”

“What friends?” Jack’s tone drops, low and sly. “The girls are holed up in your buddy Vaughn’s old apartment, trying to get the lay of the land and work out how they’re gonna get you back for turning traitor.”

“I didn’t-“

“It’s cool, I totally get it. I mean, they’re _con artists_ for god’s sake, and you remember how they drove off without you that time? Yeah? You remember. You had to go chasing after them, they weren’t coming back for you. It’s about time you ditched that dead wood, know what I’m saying?”

“I haven’t ditched anyone,” Rhys snaps. “I’m just…getting settled. You’re the one who said I needed to keep an eye on things, and that’s what I’m doing. I’ll go see them in a couple of days and explain. I’ll give them the beacon. It’ll be fine.”

“Sure it will, babe. And how ‘bout Vaughn? You left him down on Pandora. Guess he finally got boring; I can’t tell you the number of times I gave that guy ghost wedgies, sick abs or not. Not to mention he was kind of a downer. _Oh, Rhys, you’re so much better looking than me. You’re so much cooler, you get all the babes and party invitations and I go home and cry about it,_ blah, blah, blah.”

Rhys slams a fist down on the table. The voice goes silent. “That’s my best friend you’re talking about. And you need to stop.”

“Touchy little princess, aren’t you?”

“I can mute you.”

“Just you try it.”

“ _Urgh_.” Rhys drops his head into his hands, fingertips digging into his hairline. He doesn’t bother looking for a mute function. He already knows it’s not going to work.

“Chillax, Rhys. Lean back, let the dopamine sink in. You’re gonna have to hide the stress better, or those fucking piranhas will eat you alive. It’s early days; half of them think this is some kind of trick. And I’m gonna show ‘em different, believe me, but that won’t happen overnight. And it’ll take some teamwork. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.”

“I know what teamwork means,” Rhys mumbles.

“Sure you do. We help each other out, everyone’s happy. And, hey, I like you, Rhys. You’ve been good to me. Not many people woulda done what you did, and that makes you my favourite. So, congrats! I’m actually having a kickass trophy made for you, the blueprints are in Engineering right now. Not only does it look _awesome_ , it also shoots lasers when you snap your fingers twice with your eyes crossed. Pretty frickin’ sweet, am I right?”

“Is it shaped like a giant d-“

“Rhysie, baby, give me a little credit here! I figured I’d go for something with a little more _subtlety_ , you feel me? Something kinda classy, for the trophy cabinet. Which is not to say that I wouldn’t bend you over that desk and give you all the dick your sweet ass wanted, if you asked nicely.”

Rhys inhales sharply and makes himself go very still. His face is studiously blank, or at least he thinks it is, and he’s generally pretty good at-

“Bingo,” Jack says silkily. “Shoulda been a bit more careful, huh, Rhys? Shouldn’t have let slip that little comment. What was it? You used to dream about being here, in my office? Yeah, that’s the ticket. It’s cool, you don’t need to go all weird about it. I’m your hero! Your goddamn inspiration! Honestly, I’d be offended if you _hadn’t_ thought about it.”

“You’re also completely digital,” Rhys points out through gritted teeth. His cheeks feel a little hot, but it’s nothing serious. Abject humiliation barely even affects him anymore, he’s that used to it. He forces humour into his tone. “You can talk as big as you want, but you can’t deliver _jack_.” He grins at that, a little. “Looks like I’ll just have to settle for dreaming.”

For a moment there is silence. Then a low chuckle, just over his left shoulder. Rhys doesn’t turn.

“I wish you’d stop doing that,” he complains. “I swear, I’m gonna find your speakers and disable them. With a _hammer_.”

“Might be fun,” the voice agrees. “You and me, babe, we’ve earnt ourselves a little fun. How do you like yours, huh? You a missionary kind of man, Rhys? Nah. Not you. Not with _that_ hair. That just screams, _take me doggy-style and pull my sexy hair, Jack, please-_ ”

“No it doesn’t!” Rhys turns sharply, one fist already clenched- but there’s no one there.

“Hah! Made you look!” says Jack, this time over his other shoulder. Rhys doesn’t turn to look.

“Won’t happen again.”

“Maybe not,” Jack agrees. “But next time, there might be someone behind you. How would you like that, cupcake?”

“I don’t understand,” Rhys says. His stomach clenches, something low and frightened and…eager. Just a little. “Jack? What do you mean? What are you _doing_?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” says the voice behind him, and Rhys _doesn’t turn_. “Clone or robot? Either one works for me, though I could equip a robot body with so many guns, you don’t even know. I could have gun arms with extra guns _inside_ the guns, to shoot out little baby guns. Mm, now I think about it, that’s seriously doing it for me. Thoughts?”

Rhys swallows. “I thought you were putting me in charge. Why do you need a body?”

Jack sighs. “For _fun_ , idiot. You really need me to spell it all out for you? Oh, you’re still CEO around here, you don’t need to worry about that. We’re a team! But as great as this space station is, it can’t do everything, you know? I could blow up planets, but it’s not going to come with the same rush as strangling some asshole who _really_ deserves it. And, you know, I’m gonna give you the best lay of your life. Perks of the job. Might even help you loosen up a little, no pun intended, though it was a pretty good one. So, actually, pun fully intended. I planned that. You heard me.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Rhys says, but the objection sounds weak even to him,  and Jack’s already made it clear he’s monitoring Rhys’ vitals. Makes it hard to lie to him. Makes it even harder to hide things. Rhys closes his eyes and leans back into the chair. “Do I get a say in this at all?”

“Uh, _yeah_ , that’s what I was asking you. Clone or robot? And, hey, if it’s robot, I’ll let you come along and choose what the dick looks like. And then maybe I’ll get that. Or maybe I’ll get something _else_ , just to surprise you. One of those giant, throbbing-”

“In that case, I pick clone,” Rhys says sweetly. “I’ve got more than enough metal for the both of us.” He flexes the robot hand. Stronger than any flesh and bone version would be, making it his one advantage.

“Whatever you say, babe. I’ll take that into consideration- yeah, you know, I can’t even say that with a straight face. You’ll get what you get, and it’ll be awesome because I’m designing it. Right now, actually. Want a peek?”

“I’ve got work to do.” Rhys pointedly pulls up another file one the screen. He doesn’t know what it is. He doubts any of it will sink in.

“More fun for me, then,” Jack says cheerfully. “Serves you damn right if I give it a twelve inch dick in solid diamond.”

“Ouch.”

“Oh, don’t even pretend you wouldn’t give it a try. You’re _ambitious_ , babe, it’s why you are where you are right now.”

Rhys chooses to ignore that comment, and the ones that follow, though a few of them drag an unwilling smile from him. He keeps his eyes on the screen, the prize, the Helios database that exists for him without restrictions, no passwords required. All access. All his. He bites his lips and reaches for the nearest file marked CLASSIFIED. It opens.

They all do.

“Diamond wouldn’t work anyway,” he says, and rides the thrill of file after file, opening at a prompt from his ECHO eye.

“Little slow on the uptake, Rhysie, conversation’s moved _on._ ”

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t work. Well, for me it might, I don’t know. But you wouldn’t feel a thing.”

“Life’s a bitch,” Jack says sadly. “And then you don’t die, because you’re an AI, and probably immortal! Hah! In your _face_ , life! What the fuck are you gonna _do_ , huh? Nothing!”

“That’s the spirit,” Rhys says, and grins.

It’s all his. The company, the office, the trapdoor for his enemies. Made it. Now he just needs to work out how to keep it.

And then there’ll be the victory party.

“Try something in metal, maybe,” he says absently. “Conducts better, you could probably build in some kind of sensitivity. Give it to Engineering as a new project, I want to see the looks on those stuck-up assholes’ faces. It’ll be funny.” He sinks into the chair ( _his_ chair), and pulls up another file.

He’s got work to do.


End file.
